


competing theories

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 23:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Prompts for this were: light dom Scully, one catching the other masturbating, fight sex, nervous Mulder, through clothes.





	competing theories

Two fingers is not enough to forget that she hates him. Cannot fucking stand the man – not right now, that foolish, egomaniacal son of a bitch, crazier than… oh… oh… than what? He is matchless. His insanity peaks. Three fingers, though, and she’s scaling the mountain. If she wants him this bad she has to be just as crazy as he is. Mmm. If she could just…

She shimmies her hips, grabs for a pillow… except they’re nowhere near the head of the bed. A bolt of annoyance sears her and she’s slipping her fingers out and groping for one blindly, tossing it to the headboard, dropping her head on it and spreading her legs again. That was Mulder’s fault, too. Can’t even…

Called her up, dragged her all the way to Tennessee… she wets the tops of her fingers with her tongue and trails them back down, one inside, then all three, and her hips lift off the bed. Need you on this Scully but I’m gonna ditch you at every turn… it’s not the norm for her, this full, but she loves it, can’t get enough. Of course, of course the bumpkin pharmacist with the overdrawn lips knows more about YES she hisses and rubs her face against the pillow – about the effects of topical ointments on cadavers – that is good, that is so good, she picks up her elbow angled over the top of her head and brings her other hand to rub her clit – it doesn’t matter what the drug does, Mulder, because drugs don’t work on – fucking corpses, you idiot, are you kidding me –

“SHIT,” she cries out, her pussy grasping at her fingers when the flush of her orgasm lights up her whole body. Her arms burn and she holds her breath, powering through, twisting and tangling herself up even more in the sheets. Her life until this moment is so criminally unsatisfying, and now, now –

“I’m NOT just going to sit over there while you’re – while you’re. Uh.”

She shrieks when the door hits the wall and rolls herself off the bed, avoiding crashing into the nightstand with the single shred of luck this life has bestowed her with.

“What the hell are you doing?” she cries, fumbling for the top sheet to wrap herself up in. Her hands tremble and her head pops over the side of the mattress, though she refuses to meet his eyes.

Mulder, quite shaken with his unhinged jaw, and nothing but pupil, struggles to come up with his defense. “I thought you were still yelling at me,” he says, a timid vocal shrug.  

“When do I ever  _yell_  at you? I don’t yell.”

“Scully.” He says flatly. “I would seriously consider revising your position.”

“Mulder, I never – “ and the meaning hits her, and she’s chucking a pillow at his ducking form across the room. “MULDER–”

“More of a screamer than a yeller–”  she jumps up and grabs the pillow at the headboard, throwing it with all of her strength, fingers tight around the cloth covering her body. He’s laughing, a confused, desperate chortle that lacks all humor – “The force of your anger here is remarkable, I mean, when I do what you’ve been doing–”

She advances on him, a clumsy knot of uncontrollable rage, and she shoves at his chest as his words grow louder – “And I do it a lot, Scully,” – and pushes him back into his connecting room.

“Get out!”

“I should!” He agrees, his volume steadily increasing. “I really, really should!” But he doesn’t, stands stock still and continues to talk himself into certain death. “I did it this morning, though, so–” and she does it, she knocks him straight on his ass, and he sinks to the floor with a  _thud_ –

Taking her with him, his foot looping around her ankle as he goes down. She yelps when her face hits his chest and scrambles to get steady, straddling his lower body and propping herself up with a hand to his sternum. The sheet slips, exposing her left breast, and her hand glides up like she might choke him.

“We  _knock_ , Mulder, when we want somebody’s attention,” she growls. When her hips make contact with the solid line  of his erection, she stiffens, but only for a moment.

Then she grinds down, rides the length of it, and he convulses underneath her.

“You’re pretty hard,” she observes, bringing her other hand down for better leverage. She rocks and rocks, her eyebrow arching at the transformation on his face, from panicked and uncertain to exquisitely tortured.

“No  _shit,_  Scully.” His jaw clenches; it’s an effort to lick his lips. He helps her move along with his firm grip on her waist, but then struggles when trying to rid her of her shroud. He pats her ass. “Off.”

“No,” she breathes, rolling faster. “Don’t tell me what to do.” She feels his moan working its way from his chest into his throat, vibrating against her touch and sounding loudly in the charged space between them.

“Just gonna…” he shifts, lifting his thigh just a fraction. That is – she tilts her head and closes her eyes. Perfect. The head of his cock bumps into her stiff and aching clit, and sends a heat through her body more potent than lightning. “Just gonna take what you want, then?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “You interrupted me.”

“I don’t know about that.” He grows bolder. One hand from her hip to her breast. She arches into his touch, lets him play with her nipple, pinch it and roll it between his thumb and forefinger. “You seemed… sated.”

“I am…  _never_  sated.” Quick, rippling and shimmering above him like water – and almost as elusive – she seeks what she’s been looking for, holds him in his place with no strength and little effort. He lays docile between her thighs, content to be her plaything. “You piss me off, Mulder,” she groans.

“Oh, yeah. This is a… a great punishment. I’m really learning my lesson here, Scully.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s right. Teach me. Teach me harder.”

She clamps a hand over his mouth. “I’m the fucking forensic pathologist in this partnership, Mulder. If I say a dead body can’t… use… over-the-counter antibiotics to fix its facial deformities…” Her lashes flutter. The track of her thoughts – all one way, the train always on time – comes unhinged. Her mind flies. Her cunt spasms. “Say it,” she demands, moving her hand from mouth to cheek. “Look at me and say it.” She feels his head shake, and she smacks him lightly.

“Dead bodies can’t use over the counter antibiotics to fix their facial deformities,” he chokes out, word by word, unable to stop himself from fucking her back, thrusting upward and begging her to finish  _before me before me before me_.

She shouts, arching her spine, sinking her nails into his skin – marking him with her claws and scent. She comes on his thigh and he pumps his hips feverishly until he’s following right behind her, still in his work clothes, and her with the sheet still drooping at her waist.

“How else do you explain their youthful appearance?” He grumbles unhappily when they’ve both caught their breath. She slaps a hand over his mouth again; the other one undoes all the buttons of his shirt.


End file.
